Exquisitely styled, strawberry-blonde hair; endless legs; flawless skin; high cheekbones; eyes that were the most unusual shade of green. To many, Chelsea embodied perfection. Every female dreamed of having her body, and so did all the guys. Of course, both had vastly differing definitions of what “having” meant.
To top it all off, Chelsea was rich. Well, her family was. Sometimes she would pick Adam up at school in her father’s Ferrari, and Adam’s younger sister, Trina, would get stuck driving his car back home all alone.
This reminded me to ask, “Whatever happened to Trina?”
“She lives in Boston.” Ami glanced over, probably wondering what was with all the questions.
But I continued, “What about their parents? Do they still live in town?”
Ami nodded, and I shot off another question, “I heard Dr. Ward retired as dean at Harbour Falls U and that he and Mrs. Ward travel all the time now. Is that true?”
Ami’s eyebrows knitted together as she frowned. “Maddy, are you
sure
you’re not still into Adam? ’Cause you sure are asking a lot of questions that have to do with him and his family.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just trying to get caught up on all I’ve missed.”
Ami didn’t need to know getting “caught up” was an integral part of doing research for my next book. To be based on what had
really
happened to Chelsea Hannigan four years ago, the night before Chelsea was supposed to marry Adam Ward.
I had little doubt Ami would have further questioned my intentions, but we’d reached the property.
Thank God.
As she crunched along the gravel driveway that ran along the side of the property, I maneuvered in my seat so I could see more clearly through the windshield.
The cottage, constructed primarily of gray flagstone, boasted a deep-sloping slate roof with a dark green-trimmed dormer window on the right. A prominent stone chimney bisected the façade of the house. Adorable and quaint were words that came to mind. A gable, painted the same deep shade of green as the trim on the dormer window, accented the area directly above the recessed wooden front door. Truth be told, I was taken with its charm.
Placing the car in park, Ami shifted in her seat and took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I acted weird before, when you mentioned Chelsea. I know you haven’t been back in Harbour Falls for more than a few days, but there are some things we just don’t discuss around here. Make sense?”
Oh, we’re back to that
. She sat waiting for a response, so I nodded, thinking,
sure, whatever
.
Seemingly satisfied, Ami threw open the door. With more fanfare than seemed necessary, she huffed and puffed her way out of the driver’s seat. Standing, she stretched and then popped her head back in. “Now come take a look at this incredible cottage. I just know you’re gonna love it.”
I got out while Ami fumbled around in the backseat gathering up paperwork. Ami may have been acting strangely, but as I stood on the cobbled walkway leading to the front door, the cottage felt
right
. I knew I’d be comfortable living in a house like this for the next few months. I suddenly wanted to bake cookies, curl up by the fireplace, read a book in one of the little nooks I was sure would be found inside. It emanated the kind of homey feel that made me want to nest.
We’d reached the door, but Ami was digging around in her bag looking for the house key. My eyes wandered to a flower box beneath a window next to the door. Filled with dark, rich soil but no flowers, I started to make plans. Immediately, white chrysanthemums came to mind. An autumn bloom I’d always loved, I could already see the white blooms contrasting beautifully with the deep green shade of the window box.
Ami held up the house key victoriously and said in a relieved voice, “God, I thought I lost it.”
I followed her inside with a last, wistful look at the flower box. I made a mental note to ask Ami, before we parted ways, if she knew of a place where I could buy a couple potted white mums.
The next half hour flew by. With speed and efficiency, Ami whisked me from one beautifully decorated room to the next. Gleaming hardwood floors, warm and natural color schemes, a big bed covered in a fluffy down comforter. Oh, and the artwork on the walls. The angle, the treatment of light, the brush strokes—all beautiful works of Impressionist-style painters.
And then there was the spacious cedar closet upstairs, the soaking tub, the kitchen with the state-of-the-art appliances and a window above the sink with a view of a back yard that overlooked the ocean. My mind was reeling, my senses overloaded with texture, color, beauty.
We finished the grand tour, and Ami turned to me. She asked, “So what do you think?”
“You were right,” I replied, breathless. “I absolutely love it.”
Signing the necessary paperwork was quick and straightforward. As I flipped through the pages—signing at each of the designated
x
’s—I kept scanning for some kind of information that would reveal the identity of the owner of the property.
The header at the top of each page was the same as the one on Ami’s business card,
Harbour Falls Realtors
. That really didn’t tell me much, so I asked, “Do Harbour Falls Realtors own this cottage, or are they just in charge of the lease agreements?”
Ami hesitated, and then she started gathering some papers that were spread out on the oak table in the dining room. “Uh, they own all the cottages on the island,” she answered, eyes averted.
I hastily signed the last page and stacked the contract pages into a neat pile. As I held them out, I asked, “Well,
who
owns Harbour Falls Realtors?” After signing a lease agreement that was going to cost me a pretty penny for the next three months, I wasn’t about to give up so easily.
“Maddy, I’m really not at liberty to say,” she said quietly as she reached to take the contract without meeting my gaze.
For as much as she could read me, I knew her tells pretty well too. “Ami, come on.” I pulled the contract back. “What are you not telling me?”
She glanced up, guilt etched across her face. I knew she was going to spill. “Can you promise me you can keep it a secret?”
I nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“Adam. Adam Ward owns Harbour Falls Realtors,” Ami said, meeting my widened eyes. “And,” she continued, “he owns just about everything on this island. In fact, Adam
owns
Fade Island. Like the entire island, Maddy.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Wow!”
I was truly speechless. I knew the Wards were a wealthy family. What with their long-standing ties to the local private university. And, of course, Adam had accrued a great deal of wealth of his own over the past several years. Hell, he was not just a computer genius; he was a very successful entrepreneur. And that was an understatement if ever there was one.
I’d perused all the financial magazines, reading all about how Mr. Ward amassed his vast fortune by designing and implementing elaborate and sophisticated security software programs for both domestic and international organizations. Supposedly some of it was really high-intrigue stuff—rumors abounded that some of his work even involved secret government contracts.
I didn’t know about that—Lord knew there were enough rumors floating around about Adam—but I did know his fledgling company had just been gaining momentum back when he and Chelsea were planning to marry. After graduating at the top of his class at MIT, he’d moved back here to be close to his family. And presumably to Chelsea, since they’d gotten engaged in the spring before his senior year. Although talk back then indicated the relationship was strained.
After her disappearance the tales grew more sordid. Chelsea cheated on Adam while he was away at college, Chelsea dabbled in drugs, Chelsea led a secret life that she kept well hidden from her fiancé. One thing for certain, separating the truths from the fabrications wasn’t going to be easy.
A fact that was not in dispute was that Adam and Chelsea had been planning on building a home in Harbourtown. But after she went missing, Adam moved out to Fade Island, where he spent a great deal of time traveling for work but otherwise kept to himself.
Now it made sense. Adam
owned
the island. Why not move out here to get away from the ugly accusations flying around? Focus on work instead of a missing woman. And, according to the financial magazines, Adam had poured every ounce of energy into his company after his fiancée’s disappearance. In return his company grew exponentially, so much so that he was able to buy his own corporate jet and obtain a private pilot’s license in his spare time. I imagined that made all that traveling that much easier.
But in all my research, I’d found nothing disclosing Adam Ward’s apparently vast real estate holdings. Well, now I knew who was behind the limited liability company, who the person was who had wished to remain anonymous.
Ami appeared to be pleased she had shocked me into silence. “Impressive, right?” she said smugly. “Are you
sure
you’re still not interested?”
I refrained from answering her ridiculous question, because I didn’t want her to know the truth. Of course I was interested. But she didn’t need to know that.
I reminded her that we had to be at the dock soon to catch the ferry back to Cove Beach before dark. I was dreading having to deal with the ill-tempered Jennifer again, so as Ami and I approached the dock, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw there was a guy at the helm. Something struck me as familiar as I scanned over his neatly trimmed red hair and muscular build.
Leaning toward Ami, I whispered, “Is that…?”
Before I finished my question, the man turned, and I instantly recognized my one-time friend J.T. O’Brien. He reached out to help me onto the ferry, smiling, and I returned his infectious grin. “Well, if it isn’t Maddy Fitch gracing us with her presence. Welcome back.”
“Thanks, J.T.,” I replied, taking his outstretched hand.
Once I was on the ferry, though, I had to pry my hand away from his sweaty, too-tight grasp. J.T. shot me an indecipherable look. On the surface he was still the same friendly guy I’d once known, but there was a cold, hard glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there in the past. Confusion washed over me as I took a seat.
I watched as J.T. helped Ami onto the ferry, but he was nothing but careful and gentle with her. In that singular moment, he was exactly the same as he’d always been. Had I imagined his disdain
?
It’s been a long day; maybe I’m reading too much into it.
On the way back to Cove Beach, J.T. attempted to make conversation as he piloted the ferry. He asked things like: What was it like being a best-selling novelist?
Like anything, there were good and bad points.
Did I ever miss Maine?
Not really, but I missed my dad.
And did I have a boyfriend?
No, not anymore
.
Following the last response, he turned to me and smiled in what could only be described as a flirtatious manner. His behavior was perplexing, as we’d never been more than just friends. He proceeded to wink lazily, and I quickly averted my eyes—but not before catching the flash of anger that crossed his expression. He turned away and was silent for the rest of the ferry ride back. Shaken, I glanced over at Ami to see if she’d caught any of this bizarre exchange, but she’d dozed off.
Dusk was upon us, blue-white flashes of lightning illuminating the sky directly above Fade Island. The only sounds were the hum of the ferry motor and the sloshing of the choppy waves all around us. Damp and cold, I questioned just what in the hell I was getting myself into. In need of some kind of comfort, I leaned into Ami, like old times, and closed my eyes. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stepped into the pages of one of my own novels…and that I was quickly becoming the doomed heroine.
The next day my dad helped me pack the clothes I’d brought from Los Angeles. He then followed me out to Cove Beach. Always one to think of everything, he’d planned ahead and rented out one of the garages located next to the ferry dock. “You’ll still need your car for travel over here on the mainland,” he reminded me. “This way it’ll be close.”
One thing I was especially curious about since yesterday evening was
why
J.T. had been piloting our return ferry. I was under the impression Jennifer and J.T.’s divorce had been less than amicable. Why would he still be involved with the Westons’ business?
To my surprise, my dad informed me that J.T. actually owned half of the ferry service operation, a condition of the divorce settlement. Maybe that was part of the reason why Jennifer was so unpleasant? It couldn’t be easy having to work every day with a man you loved who didn’t love you in return.
I may have felt a little bad for her, but I was still less than thrilled when I saw she was going to be transporting me and my father over to the island. Around the mayor, however, her demeanor was vastly different. She made small talk with my dad and even offered me a hand, albeit reluctantly, off the ferry upon reaching the dock at Fade Island.
Turning up my nose, I made a point to stare straight ahead, ignore her outstretched hand, and disembark
without
her assistance.
The black sedan from yesterday was parked at the dock, and as promised Ami had left it unlocked, the keys under the driver’s side floor mat. My father and I loaded my several bags and suitcases into the trunk. Our load included a big crate of bottled water and nonperishable food (mainly lots of energy bars) that my father had insisted I bring to hold me over until I had time to figure out the grocery-ordering system. I thought it unnecessary, since Ami had left detailed instructions back at the cottage, but I kept quiet. It was kind of adorable that he acted like I was moving onto a deserted island. Fade Island was isolated, but it wasn’t like it lacked civilization.
After we were buckled in, I drove up the steep grade and made the left onto Main Street. We passed the tiny enclave of businesses, as well as the two olive-green bungalows, and then traveled the paved road that snaked its way along the lushness of the west side of the island. I imagined from above it looked like a snake winding through the grass.